“Do you still believe in ghosts?” I asked Charlie.
He was staring out the window, no response, but I was dauntless—totally like that chick in that movie everyone was talking about. Couldn’t remember her name, but Theo James was in it, so score.
“I remember us playing with the Ouija board stuff,” I continued, sitting in the chair across from him with my legs tucked under my butt. “But we were, like, thirteen, and a year before that, we swore we saw the chupacabra outside, but whatever, I think my apartment might be haunted.”
Charlie blinked slowly.
I took a deep breath. “The remote control ended up in the fridge last Saturday, and when I came home from my shift, the dishwasher was running. Then, after my shift on Thursday, I came home and the TV . . . in my bedroom was on. I didn’t leave it on when I left. So, either there’s a ghost in my house, someone else is living there that I’m completely unaware of, or I’m losing my mind. And I know, going crazy doesn’t seem too unbelievable.”
My nervous laugh echoed around the otherwise silent room, taunting me. Truth was, whatever weirdness that was going on in my apartment was freaking me out. I’d told my mom about it when I talked to her this morning on the way to visit Charlie, and she was totally convinced it was a ghost. Although, I’d never seen one, I believed in them. I mean, way too many people—healthy, normal, and completely sane people—in the world had claimed that they’d seen a ghost for some cases not to be real. But nothing had happened in my apartment before. Why would it start messing around with stuff now? Or maybe it had done things before, and I just never noticed? God, it was super creepy to think that my place could really be haunted.
I needed to get some salt the next time I was at the grocery store, like a bucket’s worth of salt. That seemed to work for the guys on Supernatural.
I sighed as I pulled out the painting I’d brought with me and showed it to Charlie. I’d done another landscape, this time of Rehoboth Beach, where our parents would take us for the summer. The sand glittered on the canvas, like a thousand tiny diamonds had been sprinkled over it. The ocean had been fun to paint, but wasn’t entirely accurate.
Because no ocean was as deep as Reece’s eyes.
I needed help.
Charlie didn’t acknowledge the painting, so I got up and tacked it to the wall, next to the one of Devil’s Den. Then I turned, scrubbing my hands down my face. Without my glasses, I felt weird. Naked even. Mmm. Naked. That made me think of Reece.
I seriously needed help.
Dropping my hands, I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall. Several moments passed as I stared at Charlie, wishing that he’d turn and look at me, if only for a few seconds. But he didn’t.
“Reece wants to move past that night,” I announced to the silent room. Of course, Charlie knew everything that had and had not gone down that night. “He cleared up the whole regret thing, which”—I laughed—“would’ve solved a lot of problems if he’d just, you know, said that back then. Clarified it a little. And he doesn’t want to be just friends with me. He pretty much stated that clearly. He said . . . he said he was worth my time.”
I imagined Charlie agreeing with that.
Shuffling back over to the chair, I plopped down. “He didn’t say he wanted to be my boyfriend or that he wanted to date me. Our conversation really didn’t get that far, but he came into Mona’s Wednesday night and we talked like we used to. He flirted with me.” I pulled my knees up to my chest and propped my chin on them. Closing my eyes, I let out another sigh. “I haven’t told him what really happened. You know how he hates lies of any kind, and really, when was I supposed to tell him that? Hey, I know you thought you got some, but you didn’t. So long has passed that it’s hard to even go there.”
Charlie said nothing, but I knew if he could talk, he would’ve understood where I was coming from. Eleven months of miscommunication wasn’t as easy as anyone would think to fix, but even understanding that, he would—if he could—tell me that I needed to fess up.
The one-sided conversation went on for a while and then I picked up New Moon, spending the rest of the time reading to him. When it was time for me to leave, I tucked the worn book back inside my tote and stood.
Charlie was the only person outside of my family that I truly loved and going through what I’ve gone through with him . . . well, the idea of loving someone as much as I loved Charlie and experiencing this kind of pain again terrified me.
Hell.
If I was being honest with myself, it was probably why I had such shit taste in guys I dated. None of them were long-term material. None of them were dangerous to my heart, none except Reece, and he’s always been obtainable. Even if he wanted to knock boots with me, once he found out that I lied, that would be the end of that. So, in a way, he was a safe choice. Someone I could lust and dream over, but always knew would slip out of my grasp before I fell hard.
I couldn’t pull my eyes from Charlie as I stood silently by his side. Shadows were deeper under his eyes and cheekbones. In a week, he seemed frailer and gaunt. The hair along his temples appeared thinner.
Guilt churned my stomach, and I couldn’t help but think he wouldn’t be in this position if I had . . . if I had kept my mouth shut that night. Simply just walked away from Henry Williams and his friends. If I hadn’t been goaded by his crude remarks. I hadn’t picked up that rock and I hadn’t been the one who’d thrown it, but in a way, I had played my part.
And Charlie had paid the price.
A terrible, horrific thought bloomed. I didn’t want to even finish it, but it had already whipped through me. I smacked a hand over my mouth, muffling a choked sound.
Would it have been better for him to have not survived?
Oh God, I couldn’t believe I even thought that. It was so wrong. I was a terrible person. But a voice whispered in the back of my head in spite of me telling it to shut up.
Was this really living at all?
That was the question of the century, and as I stood there, I thought about what Reece had said to me about living my life for Charlie. If I wanted to get really deep and reflective, really honest with myself, I knew that some of the decisions I made were because Charlie couldn’t.
And maybe . . . maybe because I . . .
I couldn’t finish that thought either.
Helplessness unfurled in the pit of my stomach. Nurse Venter had explained when I had checked in that they were still having difficulty getting Charlie to eat enough during the day. She’d given me a bowl of mashed potatoes, something he’d normally eat, but I had spent the better part of our visit trying to get him to eat it to no avail. If it continued, they’d bring in a feeding tube, probably before the end of the weekend, and he hadn’t been a fan of that. Last time, he’d managed to pull it out and ended up having to be restrained. There was nothing I could do to really help him, but I had to try.
I picked up the bowl and plastic spoon, scooping up some of the lumpy white stuff. As soon as the spoon neared his face, he twisted away. I didn’t get it. He wouldn’t acknowledge me, but he’d turned his face from food. Ten minutes of this went on before I placed the bowl on the small table by his chair.
Slipping between his chair and the window, I knelt in front of him. “I need you to do something for me, Charlie.” Our eyes connected, and it was like a punch to the stomach, because even though he was looking at me, he didn’t see me. Emotion clogged my throat. “I need you to eat, okay? When they bring you dinner tonight, you need to eat.”
Not a single flicker of emotion crossed his blank expression.
“If you don’t, they’re going to use a feeding tube. Remember how you hated that before?” I tried again, reaching up and cupping his cheeks. He flinched, but nothing more. “So, please eat, Charlie.”
I kissed his forehead as I rose. “I’ll be back Friday, sweetheart.”
Nurse Venter waited for me outside. Her dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled back in a hasty bun. I figured she was waiting to see if there had been any change in Charlie’s behavior.
“He’s the same way he’s been for the last month,” I told her as I started down the wide corridor. “I couldn’t get him to eat the mashed potatoes. Totally don’t get it. He hasn’t been responding to me at all, but he sure as hell responds when a spoon gets near him.”
“Roxy—”
“He used to love those yogurt Popsicle things,” I suggested as we neared the double doors leading to the waiting room. “Maybe I can bring some by before work tomorrow? I have the time.”
“Honey,” she said, catching my arm in a gentle grasp. “I’m sure Charlie loved a lot of things, but he’s . . . well, he’s not that Charlie anymore.”
“Charlie’s . . .” I stared at her a moment and then pulled my arm free. “I know he’s not the same, but he’s . . . he’s still Charlie.”
Sympathy dug its way into the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Honey, I know, but that’s not the only thing we need to talk about. There’s—”
Whatever she wanted to talk about I really didn’t want to hear at that moment. Probably had to do with the feeding tube, and I just couldn’t think about it, because I knew how Charlie would react. I also knew that his parents wouldn’t be here to see it, and often wondered if they even cared.
Looking away, I pushed open the doors.
My whole world stopped.
Sitting on the same couch that I’d waited on a handful of hours ago was Henry Williams. The strap from my tote bag slipped out of my fingers and the tote hit the floor with a loud smack. I was frozen right where I stood.
“Roxy,” whispered Nurse Venter. “I was trying to tell you that he’s here.”
Henry unfolded his massive length. He’d grown since the last time I’d seen him. Before, he’d been average height, maybe five feet, nine inches. Now he was well over six feet.
Prison hadn’t been kind to him, not that I really cared.
His dark brown hair was buzzed close to the skull and his skin was paler than I remembered. Then again, you didn’t get to see the sun in prison a lot. There were bags under his eyes, making him appear older than he was, which had to only be twenty-three or twenty-four. And he was bigger. Sounded totally cliché, but he had to have been pumping iron behind the bars because his shoulders stretched the plain white shirt he wore in a way it never did when he was younger.
My muscles were completely locked up as I stared at Henry.
He smoothed his hands along the sides of his khaki shorts. “Roxanne,” he said, and my skin crawled like an army of cockroaches had swarmed me.
A huge part of me wanted to flee the waiting room, run straight for the doors and get as far away from Henry as I could, but I couldn’t. Henry wasn’t here for me. He wanted to see Charlie, and like a mama bear, I was so not going to let that happen.
My muscles unlocked and I moved so that I was standing in the center of the double doors. “You’re not welcome here.”
Henry didn’t look surprised. “I don’t imagine that I would be.”
“Then why are you here?” I demanded, my hands closing into fists. “This is the last place you should be.”
He glanced over to where Nurse Venter stood. Luckily no one else was in the lobby, but that would soon change. “I know. I’m not trying to start anything—”
“You shouldn’t even be out of prison. You were in there for how long? Five years tops and you’re out now, walking around and enjoying whatever, but Charlie has lost everything?” I shook my head, breathing heavy. So freaking unfair. “You’re not going to see him.”
“Roxy,” Nurse Venter said quietly. “I know you realize you—”
I whirled on her. “So, you’re okay with this? Siding with him?” Betrayal was a bitter acid in the back of my throat. I knew it was unreasonable. She was just doing her job, but frustration and helplessness were a second, irrational being inside me. I did not care about her job. All I cared about was how unfair this was to Charlie.
Her brows pinched with sympathy. “It’s not an issue of siding with anyone. Charlie’s parents—his guardians—gave permission. And unless Charlie says he doesn’t want to see him, and I know how that sounds, he’s allowed.”
My mouth dropped open. “Charlie hasn’t spoken more than a sentence in six years! And now he’s suddenly going to express his discontent with something?” I whipped around, facing Henry. “Did you know that? That Charlie hasn’t spoken in years?”
He looked away, a muscle thrumming in his jaw.
I stepped forward. “Oh, is that too hard to hear? Because you did that to him?”
“Roxanne.” Nurse Venter grasped my arm with her cool fingers. “I think it will be best for you to leave.”
Yanking my arm free, I was seconds away from erupting in a stream of fiery insults and curse words, but my wild gaze met hers. She wasn’t just looking at me, she was pleading with me to let this go—to walk out of the facility, because there was nothing she could do.
There was nothing I could do.
I drew in several deep breaths that went nowhere. All I could do was nod in her direction before I picked up my tote bag. It was like walking through quicksand. Every cell in my body demanded that I not walk out of the building, but I did. Calling on every ounce of restraint I had in my body, I managed to walk my ass out of that building, under the overcast skies, and was halfway across the parking lot.
“Roxanne.”
My eyes widened. Oh hell to the motherfucking no. Dumbfounded, I turned around slowly.
Henry was right behind me. “I know you’re upset—”
“You’re so fucking observant.”
He ignored that. “And you have every right to be upset.”
Staring up at him, I knew I was going to do something stupid if I didn’t remove myself from this situation just as much as I knew those dark, plump clouds were going to break.
“Leave me alone,” I said, tightening my hand on my tote as I pivoted around. I picked up my pace, skirting around a van.
Lightning lit up the dark clouds overhead and the thunder cracked, so loud it rattled my chest. As another cloud flashed like a disco ball, I focused on counting the seconds between the streak of light and thunder.
Then I saw my car.
Better yet, I saw what was sitting next to my car. It was an old Mustang—a cherry red muscle car straight out of the 70s. The vanity plate was familiar, too. It read BBRB, and I knew what that stood for, too.
Bad Boys Are Better.
Motherfucker, it was Henry’s car—the same car he had in high school that he and his father had restored. The same car he and his friends used to roll around in to pick up girls, like something straight out of a cheesy movie.
Henry got out of prison after destroying my best friend’s life and his fucking, stupid car—his pride and joy—had been waiting for him.
“Please, just give me a few seconds. That’s all I’m asking.” Henry grabbed my arm.
I lost it.
Fury exploded inside me, like a lit match carelessly dropped on a puddle of gasoline. My brain clicked off and common sense did a swan dive off a building. I just wasn’t thinking, only feeling rage, so much so that it was like being outside of my body. I reached down into the tote bag, pulled the first substantial thing my fingers touched and I cocked my arm back like a pro pitcher in the MLB.
The heavy, hardcover edition of New Moon flew through the air like a rock—much like the rock that had destroyed lives—and connected with the windshield of Henry’s Mustang.
Glass shattered.
Much like all our lives had shattered that night at the lake.